


oh, simple thing

by minirovks



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Childhood Trauma, Gen, Hurt, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Post-Sburb/Sgrub, Rants, Song Lyrics, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:27:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27256420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minirovks/pseuds/minirovks
Summary: Your name is Dave Strider, and you don’t even know where to begin.Like, first, you saw all the scattered, dead, doomed versions of yourself, physical manifestations of every mistake you could ever make, and then there’s maybe being not as straight as you would like, and the whole situation with Bro—you feel guilty just saying that, actually. Can you condemn someone you loved or looked up to or felt something for for so long? Love is blind, or some shit, right? Have you ever loved someone so much you couldn’t see anything else? You’re not sure you have. You’re not sure you want to think about it.orMy parents never told me they were proud of me: everyone's favorite love language.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	oh, simple thing

**Author's Note:**

> sup i'm tired welcome to i am trying to process shit and my taste in coping mechanisms is questionable so apparently the medium i have chosen is 0.7k-odd words of pure sleep-deprived projection fic!! don't expect this to be good lmao i wrote it in like ten minutes or some shit. might delete later if i look back like oml what were you thinking or whatever in the morning anyway. yeah

Your name is Dave Strider, and you don’t even know where to begin.

Like, first, you saw all the scattered, dead, doomed versions of yourself, physical manifestations of every mistake you could ever make, and then there’s maybe being not as straight as you would like, and the whole situation with Bro—you feel guilty just saying that, actually. Can you condemn someone you loved or looked up to or felt _something_ for for so long? Love is blind, or some shit, right? Have you ever loved someone so much you couldn’t see anything else? You’re not sure you have. You’re not sure you want to think about it.

Case in point, actually, this is the problem with you. You don’t know how to be self-aware, or maybe you are and you’re just not aware (ha) of it. It’s all kind of a clusterfuck, when you look at it from the outside. This is all kind of messed up, isn’t it? You snicker to yourself quietly, as if that’s an accurate summation of your experiences. This isn’t fun, though. Pretty lame. Zero out of ten, would not recommend, dude.

You don’t know who you’re talking to. You’re alone up here, have been for a while, since you pulled down the shades on your figurative house to sulk in some emo-ass-fucking silence for who knows how long. You still don’t exactly have a handle on the normal experience of the passage of time. Sometimes it’s so fast, and sometimes it’s unbearably, draggingly slow. Being the Knight of Time means you can skip ahead to the good parts as easily as flipping TV channels. It’s a blessing because it’s a lot less tortuous than having to wait everything out, and it’s a curse because you don’t know how to wait for things anymore, how to do things like normal people do, in real time instead of the loops and tracks you craft for yourself. Unfortunately, SBURB logic doesn’t really apply to the human psyche, and double unfortunately, SBURB kind of absorbed your whole childhood. You’re so used to conniving your way out of the things that scare you that you can’t face them head-on. Your powers enabled you in the most vicious way to learn how to run away.

For a while, you stay in the same spot, like that prevents the world from hurtling through space or time from progressing helplessly around you. You flip through every song on every playlist you’ve ever made, stand up and try to jam to them, but your shitty dance moves are alien on your body and you can’t find a song that feels right—you know how sometimes you’re tired as fuck and you’re really craving oatmeal so you grab a pack of instant oats and make a cup of oatmeal, or how sometimes you come home after a long day of who-knows-what and it’s just like shit, man, maybe I need a fucking hug or something, and it doesn’t make everything better because that’s not how it works, but at least you have one thing to commiserate with and one less thing to have to hide from? You know? Man. Maybe all you need is something to eat. You can’t remember the last thing you ate. Or maybe—

—the natural progression of this sentence slips through your mind before you realize it has. It’s been clawing at the dams in your head for so long, and you’ve been trying to ignore the cracks spiderwebbing up the walls, and you can’t evade anything this time, and you are washed out and crashing against your own skull as it screams, _Here is a perfect world_ and _Here is what you can never have_ , those mocking synonyms. Someone comes up, right now, and knows exactly the right thing to say, and knows that the right thing to say is nothing. You could talk for hours and never get to the point, and they would put up with it and know that all you need is something to fall back on.


End file.
